So, I'm coming back from USC at maybe 9:45. There was no one there. I cruise by Incarnate's place and dial. He's not home or not picking up, neither is the D-man. I cruise to McD's for a $1 McChicken sandwich. I make my way up Fig and sit at Washinton, waiting to make the left turn behind a van.

The van starts backing up.

Before I know what the hell is going on, this bitch has plowed into me.

My front bumper is completely off, the hood is crumpled, the radiator is fucked and there's a broken axel.

I drag the bumper to the sidewalk and move the car to the Chevron station, where the van has parked. The CHP arrives, shows us how to exchange info and then takes off, since we're technically in LAPD territory.

My phone has just enough to charge to call home.

My violators are from San Diego. They are lost and apparently have spent the better part of the day trying to find their hotel. I don't recognize the name of it. They look barely old enough to drink.

They are reluctant to deal with their insurance company, lest the driver lose her job for smacking into me with the company van.

My mother arrives. I sic her on them. We get their information.

Out of thin air, a guy appears who works with a body shop in Beverly Hills. He asks, we answer. He lays it down. I think it's technically against the law, but the practical upshot is that they'll cover the damage, the cost of the rental, and the tow truck and our insurance doesn't take a hit. (Idon't even understand what a deductible is.)

If they don't come through in the allotted time, we hunt them down and skin them.

I did not need this today.

I'm sure Andy will understand why I didn't go to Funeral tonight.